First
by AbstractError
Summary: Ishida's first...everything. Szayel Aporro / Ishida, lemony fresh.


Rating: M

Pairing: Szayel Aporro/Ishida Uryuu.

Warnings: PWP. Yes, 'tis lemony fresh.

Disclaimer: Do not own, will not claim.

* * *

Long, cold fingers, so flexible that they seemed to be made of a single, barely solid cartilage wiped his brow. The piece of cloth that was used was only moderately clean, and Ishida knew it. He did not grudge it, though. It was only his own sweat and tears that rendered it damp. At least it was not his blood.

Szayel Aporro used another cloth for the blood. Thankfully, this one was cleaner, and the archer had not truly bled that much – or at least, not yet. He feared that would change. Soon.

Whimpering, Ishida drew away, slithering to a corner, and deceiving himself with the thought that it could somehow hide him from the merciless, even lighting in the small cell. Not that there could possibly be anything _he_ had not yet seen; the position in which the young man had been left when the self proclaimed scientist had finally left the chamber left little to imagination.

The Quincy had been left nude and blindfolded, arms cruelly attached to the ceiling and drawn upwards to the point of breaking; the wide leather strap that offered the illusion of sustaining his wheight had lifted him off the floor, forcing him to bend over and solely maintain his balance by rising on the tips of his toes. His knees forced apart by a length of unyielding wood that had been fastened between them, Ishida had been left shamefully exposed and vulnerable, alone in the dark with the sharp tearing claws of humiliation and physical pain. The leather straps around his wrists and knees, just like the wider one under his stomach had initially been wet – they had dried in but a few minutes, cutting into his flesh and rendering his extremities numb.

For a while, he had sought comfort in the thought that he was alone – he had heard the door mechanism clink shut in the surrounding darkness. He had gritted his teeth and waited, keeping himself quiet and hoping against hope that he would be able to deny his tormentor whatever satisfaction he meant to achieve with this cruel mockery. Yet, with each moment that passed, that seemingly simple task had become momentously hard; the position of his arms, as well as the fact that all of his wheight rested solely on the strap that sustained his stomach rendered each breath laboured, and akin to a whimper. There was no comfort to be had. No matter how he painstakingly attempted to shift his wheight, either his shoulders or his stomach or calves came under tremendous pressure – he attempted to shift as little as he could, allowing his body time to rest, but soon, all too soon, there was no position that was less torturous than the others.

And then, even the comfort of thinking himself alone and unwatched had been taken away.

The door had clinked open, then shut behind him, and the other's weakened, but undeniably present reiatsu had invaded his lungs and crept over his sweat covered skin. He'd recognized it immediately, and, in spite of his bravest efforts, he had finally yielded and whimpered in terror. _Not him, _Ishida had thought, finally beginning to struggle against the bonds, _anyone but him_.

'No,' he'd pleaded, 'please, no.'

Then, as if his captor could read his thoughts, the cackle had erupted from all around, filling his veins with frost and his mouth with bile.

'Why not?'

No mercy, no hesitation, just insane amusement.

'Do you think you have any of your famous Quincy pride left to defend?'

He had been able to produce no more than a cut-off whimper in response.

'Shall we test that?'

The voice that poured out of the speakers had then directed its stinging, maddening and broken cackles at a new target; Ishida had felt the other's reiatsu sharpen in pointless rebellion.

'My fellow scholar Szayel Aporro Granz has been a very good boy so far, little Quincy. I figured that he deserves a little reward for his cooperation with my studies; after all, one should appropriately motivate even laboratory rats with the occasional moment of relaxation...What do you say, esteemed colleague? I hope you appreciate my gift.'

Soft, graceful fingers had then slithered beneath the Quincy's blindfold, and the dark piece of cloth had slipped to the floor. Of their own volition, Ishida's eyelids had darted open only to swiftly descend at the painful invasion of the light. Still, he'd been able to tell that it was not all a nightmare, it was not a cruel joke or a figment of his imagination. That the only person who could have rendered the incarceration in Kurosutchi Mayuri's clutches more unbearable was indeed standing before him.

A second, short glimpse at the man who stood before him had assured the archer that Szayel Aporro had not fared much better than himself. The Arrancar's uniform was torn and bloodstained, and deep bruises stretched over the small portions of exposed skin. Yet, for whatever the Espada might have endured, the glance behind the thick silvery frames of his glasses had remained equally cold and clinical, sweeping across the Quincy's skin like ice-cold water and making Ishida even more maddeningly aware of how exposed he was. Of the fact that whatever lay in store for him, he would not be able to fight back.

This time, Ishida had willed his eyes shut.

'I surely hope you will be properly grateful, Szayel Aporro Granz,' Mayuri had continued to cackle. 'After all, it was this one that led me to you, and his stubborn resistance that placed you in the pathetic position where you find yourself now.'

'He _does_ have a point,' Szayel had whispered, the soft sound of his voice making Ishida look up with renewed terror.

'No,' he'd protested, desperately shaking his head, and ignoring the searing pangs of pain that the movement shot though his strained shoulders. 'No, no...'

'Oh, but you did, Quincy, you did,' Kurosutchi had laughed. 'And although I find your resolve quite annoying, I am grateful to you as well. It is not often that one gets such a great opportunity of mixing business with pleasure. Let us, then, play a little game.'

A sob had fought its way to Ishida's lips, and he had let it out, simply because he felt that if he had done otherwise, his chest would have exploded with pain and horror. In his turn, Szayel Aporro had remained perfectly still, glancing down at his future prey with utter and superior indifference.

'I require pure genetic material from the both of you,' Mayuri had dispassionately informed. 'From you, little Quincy, because I doubt that you are the first generation descendant of the last of your kind that passed through my hands – you are not of the right age. You are, therefore, not the last of your kind; there must be at least another of your sort hiding in the human world, and I must say, after my experience with you, I am rather keen of eradicating your parasitic kin once and for all. Once I cross your genetic material with that of your predecessor, I shall perfectly identify the make-up of the link between the two of you. Then, I shall proceed to find it, and destroy it.'

'As for you, Arrancar,' Mayuri had continued, with the kind tone of a professor addressing a mildly addled student, 'the motivation is even clearer; you are the first of your kind I have been fortunate enough to run across. I have _much_ to learn about you, and I hope you will not disappoint me by not offering exactly what is requested.'

'Of course,' the Shinigami had continued, his voice reverting to blood curling amusement, 'I could get what I require in any number of ways; yet...' The pronouncement had broken, and, for a moment, he had not been able to repress his mad cackles. 'Yet,' he had reiterated at long length, 'no other way would be quite as amusing as this. I'll have you both dancing on the palm of my hand...Now, where before have I heard that expression?' he'd inquired, slyly, before erupting into another fit of ominous laughter.

Szayel Aporro had cringed visibly.

'It is needless to say,' Mayuri had added, 'that I expect full compliance from the both of you. Refusing to play would be most unfortunate, since I am not in my own lab and I find myself rather constrained for resources, not to mention time. Sooner rather than later, the rest of my colleagues will wonder what I am doing, and I doubt their minds, which I find hopelessly constricted by morality as well as by a disheartening lack of a sense of humour, would encourage my methodology. Besides, I cannot keep the both of you indeterminately...so, let us just say, the one who fails to _come up_ with what is requested will prove himself useless to me.'

Ishida had chocked. Like this? How was he supposed to...he had not even dared finish the thought; he'd desperately shaken his head, feeling nauseated by his own, too quick surrender to his survival instincts. He had not doubted that the insane Shinigami was serious; that if he failed to perform, he would be killed – yet, the realization that shamed him most was the fact that his mind had immediately accepted the cruel, humiliating ploy, and clinically jumped to the impossibility of the conditions. He would not be able to climax, not like this...

'Yes,' Mayuri had said, almost kindly, yet again seeming to read the young boy's mind. 'I must admit, Ishida Uryu, the contest is a little bit rigged in your disfavour. I hope you won't grudge me too much, dear boy – in the end, you are the one I need _least_.'

Ishida had swallowed dry, looking up at Szayel Aporro, in a desperate and indeterminate plea. What was he hoping for? The archer had wondered. Mercy? Reassurance? Compassion, from a creature that probably knew none, and had every reason to make his final revenge as painful and humiliating as he possibly could? None of the feelings had been present on the Arrancar's perfect features or in the cold depth of his golden eyes, and the young man had let his glance slip to the floor, closing his eyes and feeling that hot tears were streaming along his temples.

'Make...' Ishida had whispered, shivering from all his frail joints, and feeling his body was as fragile as his voice. 'Make it quick. Please. Please.'

Szayel had yet again remained quiet; Mayuri had spoken in his turn.

'Good,' the Shinigami had cheerfully concluded. 'I'll leave you gentlemen to it, then; more important matters await – I think I do need to pretend I am doing something useful, so I shall occupy myself with deciphering the Las Noches maps Szayel Aporro has been kind enough to surrender. Do not worry however, I shall return as quickly as I possibly can. In the meanwhile, specimen bottles have been provided. I hope you remember how to use them, Szayel Aporro Granz.'

There had been a dry click, then the chamber had returned to its heavy, artificial silence. There was no communication with the exterior, Ishida had thought, sensing that the world was spinning around him, and that he would soon be completely out of breath with physical nausea. No one would even hear him scream.

The silence had stretched, oppressive and painful, like an ocean that one feared to cross; for long, excruciating minutes, Ishida had only been aware of his own, tortured breath, and of the pounding of blood between his temples.

'I am sorry,' he had said, at long length, in a little hopeless voice. He had not even known if he had spoken loudly enough for Szayel Aporro to hear him. 'At least _you_ would have killed me.'

He had felt Szayel circling him, at an excruciatingly slow pace, and stiffened when he had heard the faint shuffling of cloth behind him. The thought of being looked at, analyzed, in the dreadful position he found himself in, made Ishida wish he'd lose his mind before it was all over. Or, mercifully, before it even began.

And, indeed, for a brief moment, when he had felt one of the leather straps that fastened the wood which kept his legs apart loosen, Ishida had indeed thought he had lost his mind. And he had been thankful. Yet, the second bond had been loosened and removed as well; the wood had dropped to the floor, with a dry sound. The piece of leather that cut across his stomach had followed, and Ishida had fallen to his knees, yelping with the stinging pain in his suddenly twisted arms – he'd drawn his first deep breath in what felt like centuries, closing his eyes tight and feeling desperately ashamed of his will to live.

With deft hands, but without uttering a single word, Szayel Aporro had set him completely free, allowing him to coil on the floor, knees drawn to his chest. There had been noise of ripped cloth, and then, there had been the touch of those long, flexible fingers, across the Quincy's brow and chin, then across his shoulders and back. He had not yielded to the touch, not truly – he simply had had no power to fight it, as he had had no power to fight when the blood that the bonds had squeezed out of his wrists and knees had been coldly, methodically wiped away, with neat and precise pats.

When he recovered enough strength to move, Ishida whimpered, and drew away to a corner, bringing his knees to his chest and pointlessly trying to cover himself. Szayel Aporro did not immediately follow. Instead, he folded the two pieces of cloth, and carefully set them aside. He then kneeled by the young human's side, gently sliding his folded fingers under his chin and prompting him to look up.

'If you had had the grace to die when I prompted you to,' the Espada said, coldly, 'we would not be here. I am pleased you at least comprehend _that._'

Ishida nodded, trying to shift his chin away. He was too weak to do it, however, and the Arrancar's golden eyes posessed a strange, hypnotic intensity that trapped the archer's stare beyond recourse. The hold had turned to a caress – across Ishida's neck, then upwards through his hair, drawing the young man's face closer to Szayel's.

'I won't hurt you,' Szayel Aporro whispered, hot breath against Ishida's cold skin.

'Why...' Ishida asked in return, not even able to give his voice an interrogatory inflexion.

'Because he expects me to,' Szayel responded, in a low, frightening snarl. 'And I will die before I give him yet another victory. I won't help him kill you, Ishida Uryu. I'll help you survive, instead; he doesn't want you to. Unlike myself, you have friends on his side, people who will eventually notice your absence, people that you could complain to and that would avenge you, if you were found alive. Abarai will wake up soon, and he will wonder about you. He _needs_ you dead before that happens.' Szayel Aporro whispered, his voice sweet as if he had been uttering the kindest of compliments.

Ishida nodded yet again.

'But,' the Octava continued, 'he wants to see you crushed before you die. He will not kill you before that, and I won't help him.'

The archer swallowed dry, lower lip trembling in utter surrender, despite the fact that only hatred burned in the depth of the Arrancar's eyes.

'I'll spite him,' Szayel hissed. 'Help me spite him. It's the only thing your stubbornness left us with.'

The Quincy painfully caught his breath. 'I don't see how,' he said, in a plaintive tone. 'I have no chance. I...'

He looked up, pleading with the other to understand.

'You don't like men?' Szayel chided, a reflex of his own insanity in his honey-sweet voice.

'It's not even that,' Ishida responded. 'Though it is...that...too,' he admitted, almost sorrowfully. 'But, I have never...'

His voice painfully lodged in his throat.

'Not even with a girl,' he whispered. 'Not with anyone. How will I...'

'Awww,' Szayel suddenly snickered. 'How very, _very_ wonderful!'

The Quincy gagged, pressing his shoulders to the cold stone behind, and wishing he could melt within it. 'You're not helping,' he said, looking away and feeling his cheeks were in flames.

'Apologies,' Szayel answered, though there was no trace of regret in his voice. 'I tend to forget that besides being entertaining, virginity is horribly complicated. You're beautiful,' he suddenly said, his voice dropping to a purr; the archer cringed. 'You truly are,' Szayel continued, gently prying Ishida's hands away from each other, and forcing him to let go of his knees. 'It fits,' the Arrancar whispered, his soft, numbing words creeping into Ishida's consciousness just as his oddly perfumed breath slipped over the young man's cheek, 'that you are a virgin. Your beauty is beyond sexual, though your body is _perfect_. You possess harmony, sweetness, softness...'

'Don't hurt me,' Ishida said, swallowing dry. 'Please...'

'I won't,' Szayel promised – and for some odd reason, some universal failure of logic, Ishida believed him. 'I'll pleasure you,' he whispered. 'I'll teach you.'

His lips hovered half an inch above Ishida's but did not make the crucial advance; the boy's breath was ragged, not with desire but with fear and disgust.

'Not even been kissed,' Szayel purred, running his thumb across the Quincy's lips, and slowly parting them. 'Should I rob you of this? It would be fair payment for the discomfort you've caused me with your pathetic weapons. For the trouble you've landed me in, you foolish, stubborn boy ' he said. 'Your first kiss...the kiss that all others will be measured by...should it be mine?' The human shook his head, despite the fact that he understood saying _no_ was not an option. Yet...

The Arrancar's strawberry perfumed breath drifted across Ishida's cheek, and when his soft lips made contact with the boy's skin, they did so at the tense corner of his lower jaw. The Arrancar paused, his mouth lingering on the spot for long enough to lick off a bead of sweat. Perhaps a tear.

Ishida shivered.

'Lie down,' Szayel commanded, gently. 'Let me see you. The whole of you.'

The Quincy obeyed, allowing his tired body to slip to the floor; he still coiled protectively, hiding his sex, and the Arrancar did not force him to spread himself out. Instead, he trailed kisses on the side of his neck and on his spine, while cold, resolute fingers drifted across aching muscles, soothing the painful pressure.

It only took a few more skilful touches for Ishida to fully lie on his back, shoulders pressed against the cold floor. He closed his eyes, whimpering in stifled protest when Szayel Aporro's lips pressed to the centre of his chest, humid and hot.

'Close your eyes,' the Arrancar's voice came from afar. 'Close them, tight. Think,' he whispered, as his lips and tongue danced over a shamelessly hardened pink nipple, 'of the girl you like.'

'Who is it?' the Espada asked, softly, as his lips sought and found the other nipple. 'Is it Inoue Orihime? No,' he refuted, quickly. His teeth clenched over Ishida's flesh, just had enough to draw a deep moan. 'She is too vulgar, too obvious for a bright boy like you. Kuchiki Rukia?'

'Nemu,' Ishida breathed, beyond himself. 'Nemu, Nemu Kurosutchi...'

'Good choice,' Szayel approved, his hands slipping under the small of Ishida's back. 'A mystery. A beautiful mystery. Think of her,' he continued, as his breath continued to slide over the boy's abdomen. Lower. Then, lower still.

'Ahhhh,' Ishida moaned, trying to writhe away but finding his willpower faltered; those thin, hard lips, that shamelessly soft tongue encircled his sex, coaxing the erection, the impossible erection that nonetheless grew – it was not difficult, not impossible, the boy suddenly thought. Not if he thought of Nemu, not if he thought of her hair, of her sad eyes, of her sweet, full lips...

He bucked his hips, pressing upwards, only marginally aware of the fact that he should not have, that he was deep enough already; his sex pressed past the other man's gag reflex, and into his throat, again and again, but Szayel Aporro did not protest or draw back. His hands, which were no longer cold, caressed Ishida's thighs and scrotum. The Quincy's hands escaped his control, grabbing at the other man's hair and guiding his movements.

'So good,' Ishida moaned. The vibration of the other man's laugher almost sent him over the edge. 'I'm sorry,' he whined, pressing Szayel's head down. 'I am so sorry...Gods! Like that...yes...'

He lifted himself up in confusion when the warmth, the maddening warmth disappeared.

'Please,' he begged. 'Don't stop.'

'Shh,' Szayel whispered, pressing the archer's back to the floor. 'This can only be pleasurable for you if you are thoroughly aroused. If I continue, you will come, and it will force me to hurt you while get my own pleasures...we don't want that, do we?'

'No...no...' Ishida admitted, shaking his head in despair.

He yielded to the touch that gently coaxed him to lean his shoulders on the wall, and half sit up, his lips aligned with Szayel's own, pale erection. Ishida had not noticed when the Arrancar had freed himself of the ragged remains of his uniform, nor did he care. A new dread rose in his blue eyes.

'I don't know,' he begged. 'I don't know how to...Szayel Aporro, I can't...'

'Don't be selfish,' the Espada scolded, in a deep, raspy voice. 'Just a bit...'

It was fair, Ishida dazedly thought, doing no more than slightly part his lips, and allowing the other man to thrust between them. It was only fair...

'Press your lips together,' Szayel commanded, his hand replacing his mouth over Ishida's sex. 'Tight, tighter...'

The human obeyed, simply hardening his lips, and holding his head still. The sensation and the taste were awkward, but less disgusting than he had imagined - in truth, the archer thought, gaining some clarity though the daze that the gentle, rhythmic motion of the Arrancar's hand induced, it was not _that_ bad.

'Slowly,' the Arrancar reassuringly whispered, in Ishida's ear. 'Slowly. Just as much as you can.'

The skin of the other's sex felt soft, and hot, and Szayel was not shy in expressing his pleasure – the little cut off moans and half whispered words of encouragement gave the Quincy an odd feeling of power. Almost unwillingly, he looked up, meeting the Arrancar's honey-filled and undeniably unfocused stare. The notion that _he _was doing this, that _he_ was causing the other man's control to falter, even if slightly, made him grow more daring. He pressed Szayel's sex to the top of his mouth, trapping it between his wet tongue and cheeks, and savoured the response. Szayel's eyelids flickered; he emitted a soft, strangled gasp and let his head fall back.

Nonetheless, Ishida trembled with fear when the Arrancar's fingers slipped to the back of his neck, assuming control over the movement of the Quincy's head, and forcing him to move slowly backwards and forwards. The man had no notion of limits, Ishida thought, stifling a first protest. For the love of God, he deep-throated his own sword; there was no telling how far he'd push. His blue gaze suddenly gained clarity, and he attempted to protest louder.

'Delicious,' Szayel purred, leaning slightly forward. 'Are you afraid?' he gently asked, rubbing the Quincy's right nipple between his thumb and index finger. In response, Ishida resolutely pressed his palms against the Arrancar's flat and surprisingly strong stomach, in a desperate attempt of controlling the depth of the other's slow thrusts. To pointedly show that any attempt at resistance was doomed to fail, Szayel pressed himself further; Ishida whimpered and closed his eyes, attempting to push away.

The Octava caught the hint and laughed; though his snicker was as frightening as always, he unexpectedly pulled back of his own accord the very instant that Ishida thought he would be able to take no more. Once more, the pink tresses caressed the Quincy's chest, as Szayel Aporro slid over his body – the touch was gentle, graceful, skilled, and sent shivers up the boy's spine. He raised his hips, eager to yet again press his sex into the Octava's mouth. This time, it was tighter, more decisive – Szayel's tongue wrapped itself along the length and Ishida moaned, this time, in full, eager and shameless surrender.

'Yesss...' the boy hissed, closing his eyes and arching his back. 'Yes, just so...'

He froze.

Delicate, intrepid fingers felt along his buttocks, sliding between them and finding the sphincter. This, Ishida desperately thought, could not be taken away by imagining Nemu. This was too much to bear. A single finger felt along the tight ring of muscle, and the Quincy held his breath for long, torturous seconds, not daring to move, as if he had feared that even the most minor twitch would hasten the unwelcome invasion.

'No,' he yelped, aware of the fact that the sensation of Szayel's finger pushing past his sphincter was not nearly painful enough to justify his reaction. 'Not yet! No...'

Szayel did not press. Instead, he lifted his mouth from Ishida's sex just enough to look into the boy's eyes.

'Have I hurt you so far?' he asked, in a somewhat clinical voice; afraid, but not able to lie, Ishida shook his head, dark tresses whipping at his cheeks. 'Do you understand that I could have?' This time, the Quincy nodded. 'Then, trust me,' Szayel Aporro purred, gently biting at the young man's lower stomach. By this time, Ishida thoroughly knew he should have, and dearly wished that his brain would do the thing it always did, and cancel his irrational emotions. Yet, he was afraid. No, he thought, emitting a pitiful little mewl, he was terrified.

He did not hear himself voice the emotion, but he knew he must have, or at least that the Arrancar had read it in his eyes.

'You could finish me like this,' Ishida offered. 'You could,' he pleaded, when Szayel Aporro tilted his head to the side, frowning.

'What about myself, then?' the Octava scolded, and, in his daze, Ishida was not able to make out whether the Arrancar had actually sounded as cold and ironic as he thought he did. 'Do you expect me to finish myself, preferably turned away, so you are not offended by the sight?'

_Yes, _Ishida thought. _Yes, that's what I'd like. I'd like to climax, then faint, and know nothing more. _

'No,' he forced himself to say.

Judging by Szayel's offended huff, and by the fact that he sat upright and away, he had not been fooled.

'I'm just...'Ishida whimpered. 'I'm just so...scared. Please,' he said, not knowing what he was asking for. 'I'm scared, and alone. So very alone.'

'Can you imagine an eternity of it?' Szayel hissed, his face suddenly close. 'An endless eternity of it, with a blade scraping against your heart at each beat? With nothing but terror, and your own voice keeping you company, can you imagine that, Quincy?'

Ishida shook his head. He couldn't. He did not want to.

He swallowed dry.

'Will it hurt?' he asked, in sudden resolve.

'Not as much as you imagine,' Szayel answered. No further words were spoken. The Arrancar's lips warmed Ishida's undecided erection once more; it was only when the boy finally began to moan, in complete surrender, that Szayel Aporro's fingers returned to the archer's sphincter. One, then two, in endless, kind patience - the sensation was odd, but bearable at first. Then, as the Arrancar's long fingers prodded further and further in, undeniably pleasurable. Ishida closed his eyes.

The sensation of the other's sex pushing at his entrance was startling; he yet again whimpered and attempted to draw away. He looked up, pleading not to be watched as he gave in, and Szayel Aporro understood all too well. With resolute, practiced gestures, the Octava flipped Ishida over, helping him rise to his hands and knees, and aligning him into position. A final twinge of fear made Ishida look over his shoulder – Szayel Aporro smiled, for the very first time.

'Push back when you feel ready,' he instructed; the slicked head of his sex rested against the tight ring of muscle. 'Not before,' the Arrancar whispered. Ishida nodded, drawing a deep breath.

He pushed back an inch. Not _that_ bad. Szayel cursed under his breath, an entirely different sound than the one he had made when he'd been caught in the Sprenger. Softer. Deeper. Encouraging. Ishida pushed back further, clenching his teeth.

Szayel was mercifully not overly thick; he was, however, very long, Ishida came to notice.

'Are you all right?' the Arrancar asked, in an unknown voice. Ishida nodded, and, losing his patience, Szayel pushed forward. The Quincy gasped for air, then swallowed a cry of surprise.

Szayel's warm chest pressed against his shoulders.

'I will now try to find the correct angle,' the Octava announced, with ragged breath. 'Tell me when I have found it.'

'How...' Ishida moaned. 'How...'

'You'll know,' Szayel reassuringly answered. And, indeed, he did, but a few further thrusts in. Unable to control himself, Ishida hissed, arching his back and yearning for the other's warmth. Each movement was thorough and deep; each movement found magic in, and out. Szayel's fingers, long, flexible and skilled slipped up and down the archer's erection, in beautiful, perfect synchronicity, and though there were moans, and whispered promises of pleasure, and soft compliments, the world seemed quiet and peaceful. Just right.

'Szay,' Ishida whimpered, then outright cried, unaware that he had made the other's name into a pet name. 'Szay...'

Everything lost its relevance; the small cell, which belonged to the creature that now pleasured him so. Nemu and her creator, who was, in the end, far crueller than a true incarnation of evil. Abarai, whose awakening could have saved him from it all. Kurosaki. Inoue Orihime, who had brought him here. Everything, lost to rising and receding tides of ever growing pleasure.

Szayel kissed the back of his neck; he contented himself on whispering the Arrancar's name..._was it even his name? Had Aizen invented it?..._over, and over and over, until numbness and rising pleasure completely denied him the ability to speak. Then, there was nothing but blinding, white light.

'Nnnno,' Ishida chocked out. 'Yesss...'

He came, shuddering and pressing his shoulders against the other man's chest. Sharp contours became soft, the fluorescent light flickered, then the world faded to complete silence.

It seemed like millennia before he felt Szayel Aporro pulling out of his body; the clinical, cold clutter of the specimen bottles sounded like crystal.

'You're not done,' Ishida said, at long length. Just like himself, the Arrancar seemed to wonder why he cared.

'No,' Szayel Aporro dryly responded, expertly collecting the last drop of the Quincy's ejaculate off his palm, and into the specimen bottle, before corking it and neatly placing it atop the folded pieces of cloth. 'If I were to continue,' Szayel Aporro said, in a thoroughly decided voice, which was horribly ill fitting to the blush that coloured his cheeks crimson, 'I would hurt you. I would break you, I would make you cry. I promised I would not, not while _he _is watching. '

The Arrancar closed his eyes and turned away, facing into a corner.

'Is this not what you wanted, Quincy?' he asked.

Ishida shuddered, and forced himself up to his knees.

'No,' he protested, watching the Octava's long, flexible fingers circle along his own length. 'No.'

Szayel did not answer, one hand gently pumping along his throbbing erection, and the other slipping gracefully though his own hair.

'Not like this,' Ishida said, rushing over, his gestures guided by something else than his brain. He keeled behind the other man, but hesitated before his fingers gently wrapped over Szayel's. 'Let me...' he breathed. 'Let me help you.'

Szayel muttered in protest.

_I do not require your assistance. I am in control. I am perfect. I am..._

Alone. So very alone.

'We'll spite him,' Ishida said, lips moving softly over the Espada's ear. 'We'll spite him together.'

'I don't need you, you impudent child. You ignorant clown, you...I am perfect, I will survive this, I don't...'

The fingers of Ishida's left hand lingered over the tiny scar at the centre of the Octava's chest.

'I'm sorry,' he said, this time, in earnest.

Ishida's fingers slipped under the Arrancar's pointy chin, pulling it upwards and gently coaxing the other man's head onto his shoulder; he stretched his long, smooth legs on either side of Szayel Aporro's. Fingers and chests rose and fell in unison. Soft, hot breaths escaped both sets of lips as Ishida drew his closer – ever closer.

And, as Ishida gave away his first kiss, Szayel came, with a high, disconcerting mewl of his own.

Kurosutchi Mayuri's return found them asleep, arms loosely around each others' frames – two specimen bottles, appropriately labelled, rested atop two neatly folded pieces of cloth.

The Shinigami cursed under his breath. Had he known the specimen labels had been switched, and that he would spend the following two weeks trying in vain to find a single genetic marker in common between Ishida and his grandfather, he would have cursed a whole lot more.


End file.
